autumn drizzle
in the lane
the clatter of clogs
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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autumn sojourn
in the evening chill
the clatter of my clogs
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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autumn chill
between the clatter of my clogs
haiku moments
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Old Autumn Rain
Old Autumn Rain
it is raining
heaven is urinating
drizzle
prostate heavenly enlarged
drip drip drip
drizzle drip
it is raining
leisurely
patiently
prostate cancer?
not at all
nothing malignant
nothing special
nothing unusual
nothing critical
nothing clinical
drip drip drip
drizzle drip
just autumn rain
just old autumn rain
just old man's rain
just old god's rain
just benign rain
it is halloween
it is raining
- Battered Suitcase, vol 1, issue 3, October 2008 -
poem by Suchoon Mo_
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Pirouetting Autumn
The tree blushed - a rude blast of air
Betrayed a shapely bough.
My saddened heart aware
That Nature's clock was chiming,
I froze upon the twelfth
Clanging tone, caught alone,
Staring at a creaking door -
Left ajar for dancing, coloured Autumn,
Pirouetting in her leaves,
While agitated summer creatures
Backed away resignedly,
Sighing in protracted breves.
I turned; gave company;
We stood together, watching
Summer slowly blow away.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
A utumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Autumn Promises
Autumn whispers promises it cannot keep,
As sunshine tries to have just one more fling
With those frost-fearful, fading flowers
That still may dare to dance.
Autumn tells untruths about what is to come
As drifting drizzle hints of morning mist
And hazy, lazy afternoons
But fails to speak of rain.
Autumn lies about the cold that lies ahead
As, gently nipping like a terrier at play,
It hides the bulldog’s bitter teeth
Where winter stalks its prey.
poem by C. Richard Miles
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Morning Drizzle
Today
If you find out the rain is rattling outside
Don't put your blanket on
And sleeping again
Today
If you find out the wind doesn't stop whistle
Don't close your ears with your hands
And hide your fears
It's just morning drizzle
It's just shower from the sky
That waking this world
From cold winter time
Today
If you find out the sky is grey
Don't you hesitant to go outside
And ruin your perfect day
Today
If you don't see the sunlight shines bright
Don't keep your mourning
And forget to smile
It's just morning drizzle
It's just a mighty spray
That splashes you warning
In your joy of spring
Today
If you find out the cloud doesn't disperse
Don't keep the loneliness inside
Behind the dusty window
Today
If you find out the damp street
Don't let your mood darkening
And grudging over the muddy puddle
It's just morning drizzle
It's just a water breeze
That cooling this land
From the heat of summer
Today
If you find out the plants soaked with downpour
Don't let your heart heavy
To do what you have to do
Today
If you find out the leaves falling helplessly
Don't also feel so weak
To be blown by cruel storm
It's just morning drizzle
It's just the season's change
That washes you some fun
In the harvest of autumn
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Travelling down memory lane
Traveling down memory lane
is not all black 'n white.
Traveling down memory lane
is not all lacking light.
Traveling down memory lane
is not eye filled with tears.
Traveling down memory lane
brings fresh and soothing air.
Traveling down memory lane
is love & pain, fun with friends.
Traveling down memory lane
is full of curves and bends.
Traveling down memory lane
is a test of time and mind
Traveling down memory lane
is a joy of it's kind.
poem by Ralph Acosta
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Brogan's Lane
There's a crack in the city—down that sharp street
In couples, and armed, tramp rozzers on beat.
Like a joss, silhouetted across the pane,
A Chinese face watches down Brogan’s Lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
A reeling moon blinks over Brogan’s Lane.
Flash Fred, when he dives on a red lot, sneaks thro’
To moscow the swag with a Polaky Jew.
Tho’ rooked by old Shylock, he needn’t complain,
The melting pot bubbles in Brogan’s Lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
Rats pinch from their cobbers down Brogan’s Lane.
And Jenny, fresh down from the country, goes gay
And drives to the races and laughs at the play;
Till one morn, lying out in the cold and the rain,
A body is perished in Brogan’s Lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
There’s only one turn to the long last lane.
With opium dens, sly cribs, bones and rags,
’Tis the haunt of thieves, wastrels, poor women and vags.
They booze to bring joy, they sin to numb pain,
But there’ll come a stretch at the end of the lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
The river and morgue shadow Brogan’s Lane.
poem by Louis Esson
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Lover's Lane
Summah night an' sighin' breeze,
'Long de lovah's lane;
Frien'ly, shadder-mekin' trees,
'Long de lovah's lane.
White folks' wo'k all done up gran'--
Me an' 'Mandy han'-in-han'
Struttin' lak we owned de lan',
'Long de lovah's lane.
Owl a-settin' 'side de road,
'Long de lovah's lane,
Lookin' at us lak he knowed
Dis uz lovah's lane.
Go on, hoot yo' mou'nful tune,
You ain' nevah loved in June,
An' come hidin' f'om de moon
Down in lovah's lane.
Bush it ben' an' nod an' sway,
Down in lovah's lane,
Try'n' to hyeah me whut I say
'Long de lovah's lane.
But I whispahs low lak dis,
An' my 'Mandy smile huh bliss--
Mistah Bush he shek his fis',
Down in lovah's lane.
Whut I keer ef day is long,
Down in lovah's lane.
I kin allus sing a song
'Long de lovah's lane.
An' de wo'ds I hyeah an' say
Meks up fu' de weary day
Wen I's strollin' by de way,
Down in lovah's lane.
An' dis t'ought will allus rise
Down in lovah's lane;
Wondah whethah in de skies
Dey 's a lovah's lane.
Ef dey ain't, I tell you true,
'Ligion do look mighty blue,
'Cause I do' know whut I 'd do
'Dout a lovah's lane.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Trvelling down the memory lane
Travelling down the memory lane
is not all black 'n white.
Travelling down the memory lane
is not all lacking light.
Travelling down the memory lane
is not eye filled with tears.
Travelling down the memory lane
brings fresh and soothing air.
Travelling down the memory lane
is college, fun and friend.
Travelling down the memory lane
is full of curves and bends.
Travelling down the memory lane
is a test of time and mind
Travelling down the memory lane
is a joy of it's kind.
Poet: Spandan Bhattacharyya
poem by Spandan Bhattacharyya
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A sad tune she plays in a rainy night
With a small drizzle I hear the melody,
Queen of the night she walks here and there with the wind
And it looks so sad when she passes without a hope.
There isn't a single soul to be seen on the road
As the drizzle turned into heavy rains unexpectedly.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Autumn Is In The Leaves
The autumn is in the leaves,
in the gestures of people,
when trees are already standing as skeletons,
the autumn is bringing pain
when the winter appears,
the stormy wind blows doors close
with spots of sun splashing down,
stripped trees are in their bark,
lonely I walk in the lane.
poem by Gert Strydom
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My autumn girl
Your
Autumn lips
Autumn hair
Autumn eyes
Autumn smile
Autumn cheeks
I kiss God in autumn!
poem by Framarz Bagheri
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Strolling down memory lane
Strolling down memory lane
Where the colors begin to fade.
Strolling down memory lane
Is where I want you to come along.
Strolling down memory lane
is a test of time and mind.
Strolling down memory lane
I won’t be afraid.
Strolling down memory lane
Is not lacking in color.
Strolling down memory lane
Is not a big bummer.
Strolling down memory lane
Not a storm in sight
Strolling down memory lane
is joy without bite.
A memory that I have created in my mind,
Stands the test of time.
Memories are like dream, a reflection of the past.
My memories can kiss my…
Ask me no questions I will tell you no lies.
poem by Taran Burke
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The Distress'd Travellers; or, Labour in Vain
I.
I sing of a journey to Clifton,
We would have perform'd if we could,
Without cart or barrow to lift on
Poor Mary and me through the mud;
Slee, sla, slud,
Stuck in the mud,
Oh it is pretty to wade through a flood!
II.
So away we went, slipping and sliding,
Hop, hop, a la mode de deux frogs.
'Tis near as good walking as riding,
When ladies are dress'd in their clogs.
Wheels, no doubt,
Go briskly about,
But they clatter and rattle, and make such a rout!
III.
SHE:
Well! now I protest it is charming;
How finely the weather improves!
That cloud, though, is rather alarming;
How slowly and stately it moves!
HE:
Pshaw! never mind;
'Tis not in the wind;
We are travelling south, and shall leave it behind.
IV.
SHE:
I am glad we are come for an airing,
For folks may be pounded and penn'd,
Until they grow rusty, not caring
To stir half a mile to an end.
HE:
The longer we stay,
The longer we may;
It's a folly to think about weather or way.
V.
SHE:
But now I begin to be frighted:
If I fall, what a way I should roll!
I am glad that the bridge was indicted.--
Stop! stop! I am sunk in a hole!
HE:
Nay, never care!
'Tis a common affair;
You'll not be the last that will set a foot there.
VI.
SHE:
Let me breathe now alittle, and ponder
On what it were better to do.
That terrible lane, I see yonder,
I think we shall never get through!
HE:
So think I;
But, by the bye,
We never shall know, if we never should try.
VII.
SHE:
But should we get there, how shall we get home?
What a terrible deal of bad road we have past,
Slipping and sliding; and if we should come
To a difficult stile, I am ruin'd at last.
Oh this lane!
Now it is plain
That struggling and striving is labour in vain.
VIII.
HE:
Stick fast there, while I go and look.
SHE:
Don't go away, for fear I should fall!
HE:
I have examin'd it every nook,
And what you have here is a sample of all.
Come, wheel round;
The dirt we have found
Would be an estate at a farthing a pound.
IX.
Now, Sister Anne, the guitar you must take;
Set it, and sing it, and make it a song.
I have vari'd the verse for variety sake,
And cut it off short, because it was long.
'Tis hobbling and lame,
Which critics won't blame,
For the sense and the sound, they say, should be the same.
poem by William Cowper
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Taking a Walk on Memory Lane
Taking a walk on memory lane
isn’t all that gray.
Taking a walk on memory lane
I see the sunrays.
Taking a walk on memory lane
isn’t all full of tears.
Taking a walk on memory lane
I have no fear.
Taking a walk on memory lane
not a dropp of rain in sight.
Taking a walk on memory lane
Every thing is alright.
Taking a walk on memory lane
is where I want you to come along.
Taking a walk on memory lane
is where we belong all lifelong.
poem by Lost Sierra
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Rainbow drizzle
I seldom see
those like you or me
that is why
we're meant to be
Playing our banjos
on the roof
Putting nail varnish
on a horses hoof
Rainbow drizzle
Red green and blue
I like me
I like you
Let's always stay young
having fun
we'll fly away
we'll touch the sun
When the snow falls
We'll make snowmen
Take the day off work
We'll stay out till ten
Rainbow drizzle
Red green and blue
I like me
I like you
Let's do cartwheels
In the rain
I'll pick some daisies
I'll make you a chain
Hold my hands and we'll spin
around and around
We'll get so dizzy
Fall to the ground
Rainbow drizzle
Red green and blue
I like me
I like you
poem by Frances May
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You, Me & This Autumn
It was you, me & this autumn, when
I stood an onlooker, then
You & the autumn romped again.
How I relish looking on, when
This autumn showered the golden
confetti on you, then
You & the autumn romped again.
Those birds, being envious of you, when
The silver heels & golden leaves would
make saccharine songs, then
You & the autumn romped again.
In our midst, this autumn was a bosom
pal, when
None would sing the songs with us, then
You & the autumn romped again.
You & Me were dashing on the greying
path, when
The autumn was younger & even younger,
our Love, then
You & the autumn romped again.
We met in every scuffle, we had, when
This autumn stood a witness, then
You & the autumn romped again.
Our deep ties with the autumn would
never go in vain, when
On our graves the golden confetti would
shower down again, then
You & the autumn romped again (close to
my grave)
poem by Pablo Keats
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